Discipline: A Novel

CHAPTER XI.

My friend's letter cost me a whole night's repose. I could not
read without emotion the expressions of an affection so ill repaid,--an
affection now lost to me for ever. A thousand instances of my
ingratitude forced themselves upon my recollection; and who can
tell the bitterness of that pity which we feel for those whom we
have injured, when we know that our pity can no longer avail?
The mild form of Miss Mortimer perpetually rose to my fancy. I
saw her alone in her solitary dwelling, suffering pain which was
unsoothed by the voice of sympathy, and weakness which no friend
was at hand to sustain. I saw her weep over the wounds of my
unkindness, and bless me, though "the iron had entered into her
soul!"--"But she shall not weep,--she shall not be alone and
comfortless," I cried, starting like one who has taken a sudden
resolution: "I will go to her. I will show her that I am not altogether
thankless. I will spend whole days with her. I will read
to her,--sing to her,--amuse her a thousand ways. To-morrow I
will go--no--to-morrow I am engaged at Lady G.'s,--how provoking!
and the day after, we must dine with Mrs. Sidney,--was
ever anything so unfortunate? However, some day soon I will
most certainly go." So with this opiate I lulled the most painful
of my self-upbraidings.

That part of the letter which related to my chosen associates
was not immediately dismissed from my mind. Had no accident
awakened my suspicions, I should have indignantly rejected my
friend's insinuations, or despised them as the sentiments of a
narrow-minded though well-intentioned person; but now, my own
observation coming in aid of her remonstrances, I was obliged to
own that they were not wholly unfounded. I received them, however,
as a bon vivant does the advice of his physician. I was convinced
that it was advisable to restrain my intimacy with Lady St.
Edmunds; I resolved to be less frank in communicating my sentiments,
less open in regard to my affairs; and this resolution held,
till the next time it was exposed to the blandishments of Lady St.
Edmunds. As to Miss Arnold, her faults, like my own, I could
review only to excuse them; or rather, they entered my mind
only to be banished by some affectionate recollection. Whatever
has long ministered to our gratification, is at last valued without
reference to its worth; and thus I valued Juliet. In short, "I
could have better spared a better" person. But amidst my present
"compunctious visitings," I thought of atoning for my former
rebellions by one heroic act of submission. I resolved that,
in compliance with Miss Mortimer's advice, I would refrain
from urging my father to detain Miss Arnold as an inmate of
the family. I was, however, spared this effort of self-command.
The termination of Miss Arnold's visit was never again mentioned,
either by herself, or by my father. In fact, she had become
almost as necessary to him as to me; and I have reason to believe,
that he was very little pleased with Miss Mortimer's interference
on the subject.

But the more serious part of my friend's letter was that which
disquieted me the most. The darkness of midnight was around
me. The glittering baubles which dazzled me withdrawn for a
time, I saw, not without alarm, the great realities which she presented
to my mind. I could not disguise from myself the uselessness
of my past life; and I shrank under a confused dread of
vengeance. A sense of unworthiness wrung from me some natural
tears of remorse; a sense of danger produced some vague desires
of reformation; and this, I fancied, was repentance. How many
useless or poisonous nostrums of our own compounding do we call
by the name of the true restorative!

But though false medicines may assume the appellation, and
sometimes even the semblance of the real, they cannot counterfeit
its effects. The cures which they perform are at best partial or
transient,--the true medicine alone gives permanent and universal
health. I passed the night under the scourge of conscience; and
the strokes were repeated, though at lengthening intervals, for several
days. I was resolved, that I would no longer be an unprofitable
servant; that I would devote part of my time and my fortune to the
service of the Giver; that I would earn the gratitude of the poor,--the
applauses of my own conscience,--the approbation of Heaven!
Of the permanence of my resolutions,--of my own ability to put
them in practice,--it never entered my imagination to doubt. I
remembered having heard my duties summed up in three comprehensive
epithets, "sober, righteous, and godly." To be
"righteous" was, I thought, an injunction chiefly adapted to the
poor. In the limited sense which I affixed to the command, the
rich had no temptation to break it; at all events I did not,--for I
defrauded no one. "Godly," I certainly intended one day or
other to become; but for the present I deferred fixing upon the
particulars of this change. It was better not to attempt too much
at once,--so I determined to begin by living "soberly." I would
withdraw a little from the gay world in which I had of late been
so busy. I would pass more of my time at home. I would find
out some poor but amiable family, who had perhaps seen better
days. I would assist and comfort them; and, confining myself to
a simple neatness in my dress, would expend upon them the liberal
allowance of my indulgent father. I was presently transported by
fancy to a scene of elegant distress, and theatrical gratitude, common
enough in her airy regions, but exceedingly scarce upon the
face of this vulgar earth. The idea was delightful. "Who," cried
I, "would forfeit the pleasures of benevolence for toys which
nature and good sense can so well dispense with? And, after all,
what shall I lose by retreating a little from a world where envy
and malice are watchful to distort the veriest casualties into the
hideous forms upon which slander loves to scowl! No doubt,
Lady Maria's malice will find food in my new way of life,--but no
matter, I will despise it." It is so easy to despise malice in our
closets! "Mr. Maitland," thought I, "will approve of my altered
conduct;" and then I considered that retirement would allow me
to make observations on the "interest" which I had excited in
Mr. Maitland; for, in the present sobered state of my mind, I
thought of making observations rather than experiments.

Circumstances occurred to quicken the ardour with which vanity
pursued those observations. Maitland had hitherto been content
to perform the duties of a quiet citizen. Secure of respect, and
careless of admiration, he had been satisfied to promote by conscientious
industry his means of usefulness, and, with conscientious
benevolence, to devote those means to their proper end.
With characteristic reserve, he had withdrawn even from the gratitude
of mankind. He had been the unknown, though liberal
benefactor of unfriended genius. He had given liberty to the
debtor who scarcely knew of his existence; and had cheered many
a heart which throbbed not at the name of Maitland. But now
the name of Maitland became the theme of every tongue; for, in
the cause of justice, he had put forth the powers of his manly
mind; and orators, such as our senates must hope no more to own,
had hung with warm applause, or with silent rapture, upon the
eloquence of Maitland! Himself a West India merchant, and
interested, of course, in the continuation of the slave-trade, he
opposed, with all the zeal of honour and humanity, this vilest
traffic that ever degraded the name and the character of man. In
the senate of his country he lifted up his testimony against this
foul blot upon her fame,--this tiger-outrage upon fellow-man,--this
daring violation of the image of God. Alas! that a more
lasting page than mine must record, that the cry of the oppressed
often came up before British senates, ere they would deign to
hear! But, amidst the tergiversation of friends, and the virulence
of foes, some still maintained the cause of justice. They poured
forth the eloquence which makes the wicked tremble, and the good
man exult in the strength of virtue. The base ear of interest
refused indeed to hear; but the words of truth were not scattered
to the winds. All England, all Europe, caught the inspiration;
and burnt with an ardour which reason and humanity had failed
to kindle, till they borrowed the eloquence of Maitland.

And now his praise burst upon me from every quarter. Those
who affected intimacy with the great, retailed it as the private sentiment
of ministers and princes. The newspapers panegyrised
him; and fashion, rank, and beauty, crowded round the happy
few who could give information concerning the age, manners, and
appearance of Mr. Maitland. Not all his wisdom, nor all his
worth, could ever have moved my vain mind so much as did these
tributes of applause from persons unqualified to estimate either.
When I heard admiration dwell upon his name, my heart bounded
at the recollection of the "interest" which he had expressed in
me; and again I wondered whether that interest were love? I
would have given a universe to be able to answer "yes." To see
the eye which could penetrate the soul hang captive on a glance
of mine!--to hear the voice which could awe a senate falter when
it spoke to me!--to feel the hand which was judged worthy to
hold the helm of state tremble at my touch!--the very thought
was inspiration. Let not the forgiving smile which belongs to the
innocent weakness of nature be lavished on a vice which leads to
such cold, such heartless selfishness. Let it rather be remembered
that avarice, oppression, cruelty, all the iron vices which harden
the heart of man, are not more rigidly selfish, more wantonly
regardless of another's feelings, than unrestrained, active vanity.

Meanwhile, Mr. Maitland allowed me abundant opportunities
for observation. Instead of withdrawing from us after Miss Mortimer's
departure, as I feared he would, he visited us more frequently
than ever. He sometimes breakfasted with us in his way
to the city; often returned when the House adjourned in the evening;
and in short seemed inclined to spend with us the greater
part of his few abstemious hours of leisure. Yet even my vanity
could trace nothing in his behaviour which might explain this constant
attendance. On the contrary, his manner, often cold, was
sometimes even severe. He was naturally far from being morose;
and often casting off the cares of business, he would catch infectious
spirits from my lightness of heart; yet even in those
moments, somewhat painful would not unfrequently appear to
cross his mind, and he would turn from me as if half in sorrow,
half in anger. I could perceive that he listened with interest when
I spoke; but that interest seemed of no pleasing kind. He often,
indeed, looked amused, but seldom approving: and if once or
twice I caught a more tender glance, it was one of such mournful
kindness as less resembled love than compassion.

All this was provokingly unsatisfactory. I found that it was
vain to expect discoveries from observation; I was obliged to have
recourse to experiment; and it is not to be imagined what tricks
I practised to steal poor Maitland's fancied secret. So mean is
vanity! and so little security have they who submit to its power,
that they may not stoop to faults the most remote from their
natural tendencies. I flourished the arm of which he had praised
the beauty, that I might watch whether his gaze followed it in
admiration. I was laboriously "graceful;" and sported my "naif
sensibility" till it was anything but naif. I obtruded my "lovely
singleness mind," till, I believe I should have become a disgusting
mass of affectation, had it not been for the manly plainness of Mr.
Maitland. He at first appeared to look with surprise upon my
altered demeanour; then fairly showed me by his manner that he
detected my little arts, and that he was alternately grieved to find
me condescending to plot, and angry that I could plot no better.
"That certainly is the finest arm in England," whispered he one
evening when I had been leaning upon it, exactly opposite to him,
for five minutes, "so now you may put on your glove. Nay,
instead of frowning, you should thank me for that blush; for
though pride and anger may have some share in it, it is not unbecoming,
since it is natural." I was sullen for a little, and muttered
something about "impertinence,"--but I never flourished my arm
again.

"Lady Maria de Burgh is certainly the most beautiful girl in
London," said I to Miss Arnold one day when the subject was in
debate. This was a fit of artificial candour; for I had observed,
that Maitland detested all symptoms of animosity; and I appealed
to him, in hopes that he would at least except me from his affirmative.
"Yes," returned he, directing, by one flash of his eloquent
eye, the warning distinctly to me, "Yes; but she reminds me of the
dog in the fable. Nature has given her beauty enough; but she
grasps at more, and thus loses all."

Affectation seemed likely to be as unavailing as watchfulness;
yet, the longer my search lasted, the more eager it became.
Whatever occupies attention long, will occupy it much; and, in
my vain investigation, I often endured the anxiety of the philosopher,
who, having sailed to the antipodes to observe the transit
of Venus, saw, at the critical hour, a cloud rise to obstruct his
observations. "How shall I fathom the heart of that impenetrable
being?" exclaimed I to my confidante one day, when, in pursuance
of my new plan of soberness and charity, I sat learning to
knit a child's stocking at the rate of a row in the hour.

"Bless me, Ellen," returned Miss Arnold, "what signifies the
heart of a musty old bachelor?"

"I don't know what you call old, Juliet; but, in my opinion,
I should be more than woman, or less, if I could suspect my
power over such a man as Maitland, and not wish to ascertain the
point."

"I do not believe," returned Juliet, "that any woman upon
earth has power over him,--a cold, cynical, sarcastic--"

"You forget," interrupted I, "that he has owned a strong interest
in me;" for, in the soft hour of returning confidence, I had
showed his billet to my friend.

"Yes," answered Miss Arnold, "that is true; but don't you
think he may once have been a lover of your mother's, and
that on her account--"

"Let me see," said Miss Arnold, with calculating brow, "your
mother, had she been alive, would now have been near forty."

"And Maitland, I am sure, cannot be more than two-and-thirty."

"Is he not?" said Miss Arnold, who had ventured as far as she
thought prudent. Silence ensued; for I was now in no very complacent
frame. Miss Arnold was the first to speak. "Perhaps,"
said she, "Mr. Maitland only wishes to conceal his own sentiments
till he makes sure of yours,--perhaps he would be secure
of success before he condescends to sue."

"If I thought the man were such a coxcomb," cried I, "I would
have no mercy in tormenting. I detest pride."

"If I have guessed right," pursued Miss Arnold, "a little fit of
jealousy would do excellently well to prove him, and punish him
at the same time; I am sure he deserves it very well, for making
so much mystery of nothing."

"But," said I, for experience had begun to teach me some awe
for Maitland's penetration, "what if he should see through our
design, and only laugh at us and our manoeuvring?"

"Oh!" as for that," returned Juliet, "choose his rival well, and
there is no sort of danger. A dull, every-day creature, to be sure,
would never do: but fix upon something handsome, lively, fashionable,
and it must appear the most natural thing in the world. By
the bye, did he ever seem to suspect any one in particular?"

"What! don't you remember that, in his note, he speaks with
tolerably decent alarm of Lord Frederick?"

"Oh! true," returned Miss Arnold, "I had forgotten. Well,
do you think you could pitch upon a better flirt?"

"He might answer the purpose well enough," returned I, "if
we know how to bring Maitland and him together; but you know
he does not visit here since his foolish old father thought fit to
interfere."

"That may be easily managed," replied Juliet. "The slightest
hint from you would bring him back."

I had once determined to listen with caution to Miss Arnold's
advice, where Lord Frederick was concerned; but now her advice
favoured my inclination; and that which ought to have made me
doubly suspicious of her counsels, was the cause why I followed
them without hesitation. The hint to Lord Frederick was given
at the first opportunity, and proved as effectual as its instigator
had foretold. Still, however, some contrivance was necessary to
bring the rivals together; for the man of fashion and the man of
business seldom paid their visits at the same hour. At length I
effected an interview; and never was visitor more partially distinguished
than Lord Frederick. We placed ourselves together
upon a sofa, apart from the rest of the company, and forthwith
entered upon all the evolutions of flirtation; for I whispered
without a secret, laughed without a joke, frowned without anger,
and talked without discretion.

It was Miss Arnold's allotted province to watch the effect of
these fooleries upon Maitland; but I could not refrain from
sharing her task, by stealing at times a glance towards him.
These glances animated my exertions; for I was almost sure that
he looked disturbed; and fancied, more than once, that I saw his
colour change. But if he was uneasy at witnessing Lord Frederick's
success, he did not long subject himself to the pain; for,
after having endured my folly for a quarter of an hour, without
offering it the least interruption, he took a very frozen leave, and
departed. I laughed at his coldness; convinced, as I now was,
that it was only the pettishness of jealousy. Miss Arnold, however,
gently insinuated a contrary opinion. "She might, indeed,
be mistaken,--she could not pretend to my talent for piercing disguise;
but she must confess, that Maitland had succeeded in
concealing from her every trace of emotion." It may easily be
imagined, that this opinion, however seasoned with flattery, and
however cautiously expressed, was not very agreeable to me. To
dispel my friend's doubts, rather than my own, I proposed a
second trial; but some time elapsed before that trial could be
made. In the meanwhile, Lord Frederick failed not to profit by
his recent admission. His visits even became so frequent, that,
dreading an altercation with my father, I began to wish that I
had been more guarded in my invitation.

But this did not prevent me from re-acting my coquetry the
next time that the supposed rivals met in my presence.

Our experiments, however, were brought to a close by a disclosure
of my father's. "Miss Percy," said he one day, taking his
posture of exhortation, "I think Lord Frederick de Burgh seems
to wait upon you every day. Now, after what has passed, this is
indiscreet; and, therefore, it is my desire that you give him no
encouragement to frequent my house. I would have put a stop
to the thing at once, but I can perceive that you don't care for
the puppy; and Maitland, who is a very sharp fellow, makes the
very same observation."

Now, I knew that this was Mr. Percy's method of adopting the
stray remarks which he judged worthy to be fathered by himself;
and I fully understood, that all my laboured favour to Lord Frederick
had failed to impose upon Maitland. What could be more
vexations? I had no resource, however, except, like the fox in
the fable, to despise what was unattainable. I vowed that I
would concern myself no more with a person who was too wise to
have the common feelings of humanity. I assured my confidante
that his sentiments were a matter of perfect indifference to me. I
hope, for my conscience' sake, that this was true, for I repeated it
at least ten times every day.

Meanwhile, in the ardour of my investigation, I had, from time
to time, deferred my purposed visit to Miss Mortimer. My heart
had not failed to reproach me with this delay; but I had constantly
soothed it with promises for to-morrow,--to-morrow, that
word of evil omen to all purposes of reformation! At last, however,
I was resolved to repair my neglect; for the day after Maitland's
quick-sightedness happened to be Sunday; and how could
the Sabbath be better employed than in a necessary and pious
work? It is no new thing to see that day burdened with the
necessity of works which might as well have belonged to any
other. Instead, therefore, of going to hear a fashionable preacher,
I ordered my carriage to ----.

This presentation of Discipline: A Novel, by Mary Brunton
is Copyright 2003 by P.J. LaBrocca.
It may not be copied, duplicated,
stored or transmitted in any form without written permission.
The text is in the public domain.